


Learning to Be

by Timeless A-Peel (timelessapeel)



Category: New Avengers (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humour, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6751249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessapeel/pseuds/Timeless%20A-Peel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of shorts. A new dynamic. Some things change. Some stay the same. Purdey and Gambit negotiate the ins and outs of both as best they can. Set post-"'Til Death".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trepidation

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Timeline: Takes place post-series, from September to November, 1977, after the arc story 'Til Death. For more information about my "arc" series of stories, which thread throughout the series' timeline, please see my profile.
> 
> Author's Note: Trying to get back into the groove of writing fiction again, after rather a long break. I still have at least one more arc story I'd like to do, so I've been writing a few short snippets to try and exercise those muscles again. They'll all be little snapshots set in the gap between the last arc story, 'Til Death, and the next one I hope to write. Not sure how many there will ultimately end up being, but I hope you'll enjoy whatever winds up making its way here!  
> \-------

Purdey wondered if people at the Ministry would be able to intuit that they'd slept together the minute they set foot inside, if they'd give off some sort of ineffable signal. With Steed, it was just a matter of time before he worked out what was going on, even though they'd decided to play things close to the chest for the moment. They just had to see how long they could throw him off the scent. The bets on that front had already been laid. But Steed wasn't the one they had to worry about. Purdey knew Steed, knew he wouldn't say anything, wouldn't even let on that he'd worked it out unless and until he thought it was presenting a problem, interfering with the team dynamic and their work. It was everyone else they had to lose sleep over: the rumour mill, made up of bored agents doing paperwork who would rather turn their incisive minds to unravelling salacious puzzles, and clerks looking for something to make their tea breaks interesting. Purdey knew this was the case because she'd listened in on them herself. For an intelligence organisation, there were an awful lot of loose lips within the Ministry's walls. Its extensive grapevine was the first place she went when she learned she would be working with Gambit. She'd built a not-completely inaccurate impression of her colleague out of the bits and pieces that had been passed along sotto voce. It was only when she met the man himself that she realised she didn't have even half the picture—maybe an eighth, if she was lucky.

She looked at Gambit, but he seemed unfazed by the situation, not on her guard the way she was—at least, as far as she could tell. He looked a little more cheerful, perhaps, with a spring in his step, but that could be down to anything, she reasoned. People wouldn't automatically think it was because of her.

She could only hope her face was doing as good a job of being inscrutable. Just then, Gambit looked at her, eyes bright with a smile just for her, and Purdey wondered why it didn't seem out of place here, why no one seemed to notice, then realised that he always looked at her like that. In all the time he'd known her, he'd never bothered to hide how he'd felt, so why start now? Where she had spent the past two years doing her best to pretend that she was immune to his charms, Gambit had laid all his cards on the table from the start. But that was his way. Always cutting through the knots people twisted themselves into, moving in a straight line where others zigged and zagged, never playing games, the direct approach—that was Gambit's style. Much simpler, Purdey decided, and she realised his reward was a smoother journey when coping with unexpected twists in the road. Lucky man, she mused ruefully.

There was a reason he was like that, Purdey knew. Or half knew. Intuited, mostly. From experience, she knew Gambit had never been one for being manipulated or gratuitous mind games. People talking out of both sides of their mouths, dishonesty, blackmail were all good ways to try his patience. Who he was, what he was like, was no secret to her. The nature of the job meant that peoples' personalities were exposed more quickly than in the real world, and that left little room for artifice. The why, however, was another matter. She hoped that, with things as they were now, he'd eventually tell her what, exactly, had happened to him to make him like that. Whatever it was, she knew it had to have something to do with that little sliver of sadness behind his eyes. The one that made her heart ache.

So not so lucky after all.


	2. Competitive

"I have more bruises than you," Purdey declared over the rim of her glass, as they sat shirtless and cross-legged on Gambit's retractable bed, the smell of iodine hanging in the air.

Gambit paused with his own tumbler halfway to his lips. "It's not a competition," he pointed out mildly.

"Says who?" Purdey countered with a grin, swallowing a mouthful of scotch. She'd gone for Gambit's favourite tipple, even though he had a perfectly good gin just sitting there waiting to be sampled. But somehow his drink seemed more fitting for an evening spent dressing war wounds. "And before you say anything, that cut doesn't count toward the final score."

Gambit regarded the bandage on his forearm with an appraising eye. "That's not a cut. It's a gash."

"Oh, don't exaggerate. I'm harder to impress than a girl down the pub," Purdey scoffed. "It's a cut and that's the end of it."

"Fine, but I'm going to take you up on the bruises later," Gambit vowed. "I can feel every damn one of mine, and they're adding up to more than I can see on you."

"But you're not counting the ones you can't see," Purdey pointed out.

"I know." Gambit grinned wickedly. "That's why I'm going to take you up on it later. After I've done an inventory."

Purdey tsked in mild disapproval, but did it with a smile. "Speaking of bruises, you'll be turning heads this week." She nodded at the darkening blotch marring Gambit's jawline.

Gambit probed the injured area evaluatively. "More impressive than the bruise?" Purdey snorted again. "Anyway, you're one to talk. You're an inch away from a black eye."

"Oh, this?" Purdey said dismissively, fingers dancing over the edge of her eye socket and down her cheekbone. "No trouble at all. A little concealer, a layer of foundation, and no one will know the difference."

"I will," Gambit said, with a touch of self-recrimination.

"Oh, don't look like that," Purdey said wearily. "It would have been worse if I hadn't pulled back in time. And anyway, he never had another chance, not after you hit him."

"That's why he hit me," Gambit reminded drily, taking another sip of scotch. "Still worth it, though."

"There we are. Positive thinking. Finally," Purdey said brightly. "If you're very good, I might lend you some foundation to cover that up as a reward."

"Thanks. But I think I'll pass." Gambit ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully. "I could try growing a beard. That'd cover it up. Might be nice. I wouldn't have to get up early to shave."

Purdey pulled a face. "No thank you. I've never liked beards, and I'm certainly not kissing you with one."

"Too bad. The idea was growing on me." Purdey groaned at the bad pun as he downed the last of his scotch and put the empty glass on the side table. "But there are some sacrifices I'm not willing to make. So," he went on, gathering up the bowl of iodine and bag of cotton balls. "Are you ready to have your bruises counted, or do you want me to go first?"

"Ladies' first, Mike Gambit," Purdey declared, draining her own glass and setting it on the floor, before regarding him with a lustful eye. "You should know that by now."


	3. Worry

Gambit's self-deception lasted all of thirty seconds, before he was forced to lunge for the porcelain bowl once more and decorate its insides with the rapidly-dwindling contents of his stomach. It was only when the heaves had finished that he was conscious of Purdey standing behind him. He pulled the lever and flushed before she could see the contents, wondered why he was bothering to try and deceive her when she knew full well what was going on. But he knew the answer. He didn't want to worry her, even if there was very little he could do about it at this stage of the game.

He let himself fall back onto the cold tile of the hotel room's bathroom floor, trying to get his breath back. "I'm fine," he said automatically, as Purdey settled down beside him.

"You're not." Purdey's lips were pursed. "That's the fourth time in less than an hour."

"Longer gap between them this time, though," Gambit rasped, trying to think of a reason why she shouldn't have that worried frown. "Anyway, Kendrick said this would happen when the drug left my system."

"Yes, but I don't think he meant it would be quite so…virulent," Purdey said grimly, putting a hand to his forehead. "How do you feel? Any other symptoms?"

"Just the nausea," Gambit managed, mustering up the wherewithal to lean across the bathtub and crank the tap, using the flow to wash his face and rinse his mouth. Purdey was holding a towel when he turned around, and he took it gratefully, drying his face and then draping it over his bare shoulders. He'd soiled his shirt long ago, and he wasn't sure it was worth putting a clean one on at this point. He'd have no laundry left if he did, and they still had three more days of surveillance in this room before they could safely break cover. "At least you won't have to worry about me adding to the room service tab. I can't eat a thing. McKay would have burst a blood vessel if we'd maxed out the expense account."

"He'll burst more than that if we have to send you to the hospital with dehydration, or worse," Purdey countered. "We should have known Kolchov would have some sort of insurance to make sure his room wasn't tampered with."

"Booby traps and hairs across door frames, yeah. But how were we supposed to look for an invisible powder that gets absorbed through the skin?" Gambit croaked. "You were just lucky you were wearing gloves."

"I don't feel very lucky," Purdey said morosely. "Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

Gambit nodded, gently, so as not to encourage another vomiting fit. "We need this intelligence."

"Not at the expense of your life, we don't," Purdey said forcefully. "Steed said as much. I'm to take you in if you look too peaky, and you're very close to the line now."

"Just give me a little longer. I'll come round." Gambit reached out and took her hand, wished his palm was a little less sweaty. "Trust me, Purdey-girl. Can you do that?"

"I always trust you," Purdey reminded, shifting so he was leaning against her instead of the cold bathtub. "But that doesn't mean I won't worry about you." She paused, then added, "And I'm not kissing you until you've had at least three courses of mouthwash."

Gambit was weak, but not so weak that he couldn't laugh.


	4. Ignorance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Timeline: Takes place post-series, from September to November, 1977, after the arc story "Til Death". For more information about my "arc" series of stories, which thread throughout the series' timeline, please see my profile.  
> \----

The phone rang at one in the morning, and Purdey groaned in protest before groping blindly for the receiver and pulling it under the covers. "Hello?" she managed, trying to keep the sleep out of her voice and failing miserably.

"Purdey?" It was Steed, of course. Who else would be calling at that hour? "I'm extremely sorry to wake you, but we've had a bit of a snag with our contact."

"Snag?" Purdey mumbled, propping herself up on one elbow. "What sort of snag?"

"The most difficult kind," Steed clarified. "He's dead."

"Oh." Purdey wasn't awake enough to manage a more creative reaction. "Are you sure?"

"Fairly. I've just seen his body. He was killed the same way as the others."

Purdey sat up, knowing she wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon. "And I suppose you want us to see it for ourselves."

"If it's not too much trouble."

Purdey switched on the bedside lamp. "Have you phoned Gambit yet?"

"I was about to, after I finished talking to you." There was a pause. "Would you care to do the honours?"

"He'll be less unenthusiastic if it's me," Purdey pointed out. "Or perhaps that's too optimistic. But at least he won't swear at me."

Steed chuckled. "I'll leave it in your capable hands. Here's the address."

After she rang off, Purdey looked to the lump next to her in the bed. She still wasn't sure if Steed knew more than he was letting on, but for now it suited her, and Gambit, to keep the charade going and pretend that he wasn't spending the night. "Oh, give it up. I know you're not asleep," she said impatiently.

The lump stirred, and Gambit turned over onto his back. "Can't we pretend I am?"

"Mike Gambit, if I'm going to be deprived of my beauty sleep, I'm certainly not going to let you snooze the night away."

"Mmmph," Gambit replied eloquently, sitting up and squinting at her. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

"On second thought, you might need your beauty sleep more than me," Purdey quipped, taking in his crinkled features and unshaven chin.

"Very funny," Gambit grumbled around a yawn. "What's it about?"

"Our contact. He's dead."

"Oh." Gambit's reaction was as creative as her own. "Damn." He sighed and stretched. "Do you want the shower first, or should I go?"

"You go," Purdey decided. "Just don't use all the hot water."

Later, as Gambit stood at the scene of the crime, asking the agent on duty a question around a huge yawn, Purdey wondered if anyone other than her noticed that the hair at the nape of his neck was still damp from the shower.


End file.
